5 ways to Get Your Friend Back in the Flat
by Hiding.in.the.cookie.jar
Summary: ...and not say: "I love you."  Watson left. Again. Holmes tries 5 times to get Watson back in the flat or to just be alone with him so he can tell his friend his true feelings.
1. Fake

A/N: Whoo! My first published fic. I'm so excited for you guys to read this. This story was actually started in my first semester of school and there's now only a couple weeks of school left.

Anything italicized is from the past. This takes place during Watson's second marriage, I named his wife Elizabeth. Pretty much what's going on is Holmes loves Watson but can't tell him so he keeps trying to get Watson back in the flat for a short visit. It's a bit OOC for Holmes in some spots but I think we can survive it. I hope we survive it.

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><p><strong>Watson is gone and I don't know what to do. It's so silent it's loud; I can't stand it anymore.<strong>

I reached for my seven percent solution, turning the glass around in my hand. It has never been more tempting or repulsive. Clutching the vile in my hand, I wondered what Watson would think. I gave him my word and he had trusted me.

"_Please, Holmes. Don't do anything foolish," he told me before leaving._

"_Such as?" I asked._

_I followed his gaze to my desk._

"_You and I both know it has been months since-"_

"_Just give me your word."_

_I smiled, "you have my word."_

In anger I threw the vile and the needle into the empty fireplace. I wanted Watson back. Now. He told me he would visit soon after his honeymoon. The honeymoon was over last week, I received a telegram after he returned.

_MY DEAR HOLMES STOP WILL VISIT IN A FEW WEEKS STOP GETTING SETTLED STOP HOPE YOU'RE DOING WELL FINAL STOP_

When I thought about when he was coming it made me smile and my face grow hot. There are feelings I have for him that I only wish I could express. It's been about a year since I first realized it. I don't think I can wait another week for him.

"Mr. Holmes?" Mrs. Hudson said from behind me.

"Yes?" my voice was a bit tense.

She put the tray of supper on the table then asked, "Are you feeling well?"

"Why do you ask?"

"You can't be feeling well, you haven't eaten for days and your face is flushed."

I didn't respond, instead I crossed the room to get my pipe.

"Should I call Dr. Watson?" she asked.

"Do what you like, Mrs. Hudson," I said hoping she would call Watson.

She left the room with a long-suffering sigh. I smiled and poured a cup of tea. What other reason could there be to get a doctor to return, if not this?

It wasn't 30 minutes later that I heard Watson walking up the steps. I didn't smile when I saw him but my face did grow hot. Watson looked a bit annoyed but he offered me a smile none the less.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Fine."

"Mrs. Hudson told me you haven't been eating."

"I assure you it hasn't been long."

"3 days isn't long?"

"In my standards?"

"Holmes," he looked me in the eyes, "why weren't you eating?"

I looked down away from his concerned gaze. My heart raced and Watson knelt down by me.

"I wasn't feeling well enough," I lied.

Watson grabbed my wrist and checked my pulse. He put a thermometer in my mouth despite my protests.

"I'll be right back. I'll have Mrs. Hudson bring something up," he said and disappeared in the hallway.

I acted fast. The tea was still warm - the same temperature as a low fever. My actions from there on are obvious, I put the thermometer in the tea and Watson actually believed I was feverish.

"Do you think you can eat?" he asked.

"Will you join me?"

"If you wish."

I gave him a smile that only lasted a second. We ate in silence - I hadn't noticed how hungry I was until I wasn't eating alone. Also, I came into realization of how tired I was.

"You look spent," Watson said when we finished dinner.

"Stupid body," I mumbled.

He laughed and helped me to the sofa. Immediately after my head hit the pillow, that somehow appeared, I fell asleep. Just before I slipped into my dreams I heard Watson's voice tell me goodnight.

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><p>My dreams were about us. We were living together again, Elizabeth had never existed, and we loved each other. He actually loved me back, and there was no hiding. This part of the dream should have told me it was a dream: we weren't hiding because it wasn't illegal. It was understood! Wilde vs Queensberry never existed, Da Vinci was remembered as a wonderful artist but wasn't considered disgusting, and nobody was ever bothered by any of it. You could imagine by disappointment when I woke up.<p>

"Good morning, Holmes," Watson said too cheerfully next to me.

I groaned and sat up rubbing my eyes. Watson caught me off guard and put his hand to my forehead. My mind was still asleep so it took me a moment to remember I has no fever. Watson seemed pleased and I tried to make that seem to be all that mattered.

"It's surprising how much a good night's sleep can do," I said.

"Night? Holmes, you slept through the morning too."

"What time is it?"

"One-o-clock."

Springing to my feet, I looked at the clock. He was right, I did sleep away the morning.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

Disappointed, miserable, upset, lonely.

"Better," I lied.

"I'm glad to hear it. You're looking better - still a bit flushed though."

"It's just so hot in here! Have we ever thought to ever open a window?" I crossed the room and stuck my head out the indie for a few minutes to cool my face.

"You'll catch something again if you keep your head out there much longer," Watson said from behind.

Obeying, I pulled my head back in.

"Are you leaving now?"

"I want to watch you eat first."

"You don't have to watch me like a nanny, Watson."

"Yes I do."

For the first time that morning I looked him in the eye, there was a teasing look in them. My response to that was simply to sit at the table.

After Watson left I went to change into new clothes and while doing so I cried. The only other time I cried was when I was only a boy and Mycroft had told me that the dog we had died. But Watson is so much more than a dog to me, he may never love me back but that was something I need to understand. Life will never be like that perfect dream.


	2. Morgue

A/N: Thank you for the reviews! I know three (well, technically two 'cause I made my friend review) is a small number but it made me feel really good!

And to Porlock: I know it was a bit hurried, it was my first published fic and I was just so nervous and tried not to make it to long! I also blame the fact that it was 1:00 am when I finished and I had trouble publishing it before school started! Tell me if this one is better. Your review was appreciated. :D

_Also_ I want to dedicate this to the late Edward Hardwicke who passed Monday. Today I wore all black to school to express my sadness. When I looked in the mirror I looked like a ninja… I'm a big ball of fail.

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><p>"Your case does not interest me," I said to Lestrade.<p>

He crossed his arms, determined to leave the flat with "yes" as an answer.

"Mr. Holmes, please, we have hit a dead end and you're the only one we can come to. The case is interesting - yes, in your own way - I fail to see why you refuse to take it," he said in a harsh tone.

"I have my reasons."

"I understand it's been months since a client has called upon your services -"

"I had a client just last week."

"So you're engaged in another case?"

"No. I turned it down."

"Alright, if you have a reason why you want to sit here drowning in your own boredom than that's just fine," I expected him to leave but he didn't.

I sighed and leaned back in my chair. Cases weren't enjoyable without Watson there, although the case _did_ sound intriguing. A woman was found near the Thames dead clutching her newborn - he was still alive. When they were found a carving was noticed on the woman's chest: "You deserved it!" What she deserved was unclear, it couldn't have been the husband for he died a few months before the birth of his son; there were no past lovers according to the sister, neighbors, and friends. I gathered from the reports that whoever it was took their time because the writing neat and deep. They were also torturing the poor girl - she died gradually from blood loss from the carvings. But I can't take up the case unless Watson comes with me.

… Wait…

I am a complete idiot! Why didn't I think of it before! Maybe if Watson agrees to come with me on the case then I can have him back. It will be like how Elizabeth took him away from _me_.

"I'll take it," I said suddenly.

Lestrade looked at me surprised, "Thank you, Mr. Holmes."

"I'll meet you at the crime scene in half an hour."

"Splendid! It's nice to finally see some sense come to you."

Lestrade left and I wrote a quick telegram to Watson and waited his arrival. He came in no time and we set off. He questioned me on my own well-being. I answered quickly and filled him in on the case.

"I would appreciate it if you didn't write up this case," I told him, eager to confess.

"I'd be happy to oblige but why?"

"I don't think the public would enjoy hearing about a dead mother and an orphaned infant," I lied – the public wouldn't enjoy hearing about a homosexual man confessing his love to his best friend.

"Of course, Holmes," he said a bit confused.

I should have thought my lie out a bit better – the murder would most certainly be in the papers. Anyhow it was too late; we were already at the scene.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Holmes, Dr Watson," Gregson greeted us.

Without uttering a word, I walked past him. I knew that the sooner I could get into the case the sooner I could tell Watson. We heard more details and theories from Lestrade – which I proved wrong – examined the river, and interrogated the family and friends. While listening to Watson's deductions I cringed to tell him he was wrong, even though he didn't seem too torn up about it.

Lestrade had to give us authorization to go into the morgue (and I proved my theories correct). This was the moment I had to tell Watson or I would die. I would literally die, if the three words didn't pass my lips within the next 15 minutes, I would fall to the ground and just die.

"Lestrade, would you give us a few minutes?" I asked politely.

"You're not going to do anything that will cause trouble, are you?" he asked accusingly.

I turned to Watson, "what do people think I do while alone?"

Watson gave me a cute reassuring smile but never did answer.

"Very well, Lestrade. You have my word that I will do nothing that will cause trouble in the case," it wasn't a lie, I had exhausted lying.

"Good. If you need anything I'll be right outside," with that Lestrade left and we were alone.

"How did they think she died of blood loss?" Watson asked.

"I understand. They are idiots, only they could mistake blood loss for being drugged! And the sister was obviously lying!"

The sister, Clara, was jealous because she had an affair with her sister's husband before they were married or before she "stole" the man away from Clara. Clara was delusional and said that the baby should have been hers; she screamed that he loved her more than her sister, Oleisa – which is the French variant of Elizabeth. Ironic or do parents actually know if their child is going to grow up stealing another ones love and name them the same?

"You never stop impressing me, Holmes," Watson said.

I smiled at him, "Watson?"

"Yes?"

"Will you always enjoy my presence? Even if I were tell you something disgraceful?"

"Of course, what is it Holmes?"

"I believe that I-"

I was cut off by the sound of repeated banging coming from outside the room. Watson and I ran out to see many people trying to tackle a ginger man. Immediately, I got him on the ground; he fell into hysterics when I asked who he was/demanded him to tell me. The man claimed to be the Oleisa's lover, the one who impregnated her. When he calmed down he wanted to see his son but was held custody over night for public disturbance and he also assaulted a few constables. The truth was finally out and Oleisa was nothing more than a woman wanting attention.

Disappointed with my failure I sulked more than I ever had.

"That was most likely the most exciting day you've had in months, old boy!" Watson said in the cab back to Baker Street.

"And what about you? Trapped in that marriage," I half-joked, still sulking.

"I wouldn't say "trapped," Holmes, but yes. It was very much like life before I married Elizabeth."

I smiled for a second half and looked out the window. For some time we were silent, I was lost in my own thoughts.

"What were you going to say?" he asked suddenly.

"Pardon?"

"Before you were interrupted in the morgue, what did you want to tell me?"

"Oh…that… It's not important anymore," I lied.

"If you insist, Holmes."

"I do," I said.

I tried staying silent but – for the first time ever – it was too awkward.

"Watson? What do you say to dinner at Simpsons tonight?"

"That would be wonderful."

We talked on the way to Baker Street where I fixed my hair and cleaned up. Dinner was a bit quiet but I was glad, I was too afraid if I would say anything it would be wrong. That night I didn't sleep I just sat up thinking how I let him get away again.

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><p>AN: Hope that was an OK chapter. Keep the reviews coming! I love them like Holmes loves Watson! I also apologize for the mystery because I'm terrible at creating puzzles! I also apologize for the comedy, I'm terrible at that too!


	3. Careless

A/N: Watson and Holmes are still friends, don't worry, these chapters are just specific days that they are together. If I had to guess I would say they've been meeting with each other about 4-5 days a week every month. And thank you for all the wonderful reviews! Please keep them coming! :)

Disclaimer: I own nothing. I don't even own the name Amelia! I was watching Doctor Who and I just needed a name for a little girl. :(

*This chapter takes place about 6 months after the previous chapter.

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><p>I tried keeping my mind off of Watson so I took up a case (the details will stay in here, my journal, and out of the paper for the public is not ready to hear of them). The idea of keeping my mind off of him didn't work, so I tried being careless in order for him to worry and maybe spend a night or two at Baker Street.<p>

Finally, after a week, I found the kidnapper. I was thankful because it started to agitate me; no matter what I did, it wasn't enough to call Watson or solve the case. And I didn't want anything happening to him so I didn't ask him to join me. The time came when I found Fletcher and Amelia, the little girl whom was kidnapped. He was hiding with her in a woods after a storm that morning – a stupid mistake, he would have been better off in an old building or somewhere where a pedestrian wouldn't see and turn him in.

Lestrade, as always, wasn't paying much attention; all it took was a hairpin that Fletcher took from Amelia to pick the handcuffs. Within a minute he was running down a steep, long hill in the forest with me running after him. It isn't like me to slip on wet grass but I did. We tumbled down the hill together – possibly hitting every rock that stuck up from the ground.

"Mr. Holmes!" I sat up groggily to see Lestrade, ungracefully coming towards us.

I looked over to my left, Fletcher was alive but unconscious, and I was about to be the same. All that I remember during that afternoon was leaning on Lestrade while he told me he was taking me to the hospital and me disagreeing. The rest of the afternoon I spent either unconscious or I just blacked out – I've yet to ask Lestrade.

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><p>I groaned at the throbbing pain in my head and the rest of my body. My mind became less hazy and I realized that I was in my own bed (so Lestrade <em>does<em> listen!) Before I opened my eyes I could hear the sound of men's boots on the floor, they were to careful and quiet to be Lestrade's, and I detected the slight, unique sound of a limp. Watson! My plan worked, I caught Fletcher _and_ got Watson to take care of me.

"Holmes?" he whispered, "come on, old man, wake up."

My eyes opened and met his; he smiled at me in relief.

"You had me worried, Holmes."

"I owe you an apology but it wasn't as if the Scotland Yard would have caught him again if I hadn't chased after him," I tried arguing to make me appear like myself.

"True," he sighed in relief, "I'm just glad you're alright."

"As long as you're taking care of me, I will be. On another matter, I trust Fletcher is being treated in a cell at Scotland Yard?"

"Actually, Holmes…that is why I was so worried, he died not long after you were brought here."

There was pain in his eyes and I realized that my acts were selfish and thoughtless. I could have been like Fletcher but I was lucky and one day my luck will run out. I'm 42, have nearly died several times, and only felt love once. Despite how I feel about Watson, I still think love is hopeless; people think they have it but they don't. Several times they hide or have their hearts crushed only too _really _feel once it and spend their life with one person. I hope that that one person for Watson is me.

"How is Emily?" I asked.

"Do you mean Amelia?" Watson looked at me confused.

"Yes, of course, my dear Watson. You must forgive me, I am rather tired."

"She is safe with her family."

"Good. They were pleased with the news of Fletcher, I suppose."

"Yes. Holmes do you need anything? You look like you're in pain"

"I just need sleep, old boy."

"Looking at you hurts. I'll give you more morphine."

The morphine started making me fall asleep and I decided now would be the perfect time to tell Watson.

"I love you," I said as coolly as possible.

His reaction wasn't expected – he smiled as if I had just told a joke.

"You're welcome, Holmes. If you need anything else, I'll be in the sitting room."

I stared at him blankly; he thought I said it in gratitude for the morphine. That night he slept by my side, I watched him and hoped.

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><p>AN: I apologize, I really do. I just needed an idea for a chapter and this came to me in the middle of the night. And hugs and cookies to anyone who can spot the House M.D _97 Seconds_ reference! :)


	4. Tea

A/N: YAY! Thank you people of for the reviews! I'm happy with any amount, as long as someone tells me that they like me! I probably should have thought of all 5 ways when I started writing this because I have a _terrible_ idea for this chapter that I thought of in one second.

And to Garonne: The House reference was the last few lines. In the episode _97 Seconds_ after House nearly dies Wilson says to him, "just looking at you hurts. I'm upping your pain meds." House replies, "I love you." Now, House wasn't serious (even though I wish he was). In my fic Watson says, "Looking at you hurts. I'll give you more morphine." It wasn't a very good reference. Forgive me, I am a newbie.

One other thing: in the previous chapter Holmes writes, "I could hear the sound of men's boots on the floor…I detected the slight, unique sound of a limp." Apparently, limps don't make a very loud sound but we can pretend that Holmes is just _that_ good. OK? OK. :D

I would _also_ like to apologize for my grammar. I was re-reading chapter 1 and was disappointed, I'm usually so much better than this! At school _I _have to correct my friends' grammar, not my own. I am terribly sorry, I could have sworn there were no mistakes when I read it over before publication/

On to the story!

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><p>*One week before Christmas.<p>

It was the first time that I was in Watson's new home, and I have to say that I wasn't enjoying it. Everything smelled like woman (save Watson) and everything was neat and clean. It was uncomfortable especially whenever Elizabeth tried speaking to me. Every attempt she made to start a conversation I would say a few words – usually rude - to her then glare at Watson for making me come.

After 30 minutes of awkward conversation, she left us alone, saying she had to do a house hold chore or something of that matter - I wasn't really listening. I couldn't have been more pleased but Watson couldn't have been more annoyed. I couldn't look into his glaring eyes so I kept them focused on my tea.

"Holmes – really, you have gone too far!" he nearly shouted.

I cringed and said nothing, I let him lecture me like a school boy but I didn't dare look him in the eyes. He told me that my attitude was uncalled for and to be more respectful. It took me 5 minutes to finally mumble "at least you are not alone." He stopped and looked at me, apparently he had heard.

"Holmes? What do you mean?" he asked sitting down next to me.

I didn't respond. Pretending to look hurt has become a specialty for me and I didn't dare not to pull it on him.

"I apologize, old man," he said in a sorry tone, "is my company _that_ important to you?"

"It's just hard to be alone on cases. At night there is no one to discuss my theories to or to come with me when I need to tell Scotland Yard they are wrong. It is just taking a while to get used to, that is all."

"If you ever need me, Holmes, I'm only a telegram away. You can call me for anything."

"But how long will it last for? What would happen if you two were to have a child? Or what if she wants you here instead of with me?"

"Holmes, if Elizabeth wouldn't let me be with you than she wouldn't be worth it. You have to understand that she doesn't disagree to me going across London with you if you're on a case or spending nights at Baker Street if you _really_ need me there," his voice was soft and gentle. It assured me that his word was true.

"You care too much."

"There is no such thing, particularly with you."

I couldn't stand it anymore; I slowly stood up and went to the front door.

Turning round I said, "I _do _understand, she is perfect for you. No one can compete with her…Good day, Watson; give my apologies to Mrs. Watson. Tell her I shouldn't have acted the way I did."

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><p>On my way home I had time to think everything over. The first mistake I realized was I should have brought more money for a cab – it was freezing. Secondly, I knew Elizabeth was the only one Watson would love besides his dear Mary. She was a respectable woman and – over time – I was glad to see Watson be with her, for some reason I couldn't feel the same way with Elizabeth.<p>

I knew I lost Watson but a part of me would never stop fighting. It was superior to every other emotion I felt for him – it felt as though I would have Watson some day. On my way to the flat I called that feeling denial.

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><p>AN: So, What do you think, too short, too hurried, too OOC? I apologize but I have a very good excuse as to why it's all that. So, my computer turned off in the middle of my story like usual but not the entire file was recovered so I had to type up part of it again and then it started flashing for a minute, when it stopped my dad got nosy, he kept asking me what I was writing, then the computer died _again_ and when it was finally turning back on…it died. Luckily, the file recovered!

Also, I want to quickly say that the next chapter will be the last (of course you all probably knew that) and it will be in Watson's POV. Wish me luck with this computer and hope I will get a new battery before I through this stupid thing out the window.


	5. New Year

A/N: Aawwwww... It's the last chapter. I hope everyone likes it!

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><p>*Takes place New Years Eve - Jan. 1sttwo weeks from previous chapter.

10:56 p.m

Christmas came but I heard no word from Holmes. Finally, after a week, I visited him for I was worried. There was something wrong with him but he wouldn't tell me. First, he faked being ill (I am surprised he does not know I know) not long after I was married. We didn't speak much until a few months later but he was acting strange and never seemed the same after that. Whenever we would talk - which was often by this time - he couldn't look me in the eyes and I know he wanted to tell me something but just couldn't, it even happened on a case once. The next year he was doing well on cases - except for one accident about 9 months ago- but I still had a feeling he was hiding something. It was just two weeks ago when he admitted he felt alone and I felt guilty.

When I arrived at Baker Street at night my worries left. Mrs. Hudson told me he was fine and in the middle of a case.

"Holmes," I knocked on the door to the sitting room without a response, "Holmes?"

I opened the door and smiled when I saw him fast asleep on the sofa. He looked completely innocent and calm and...Handsome. His face held an expression of easiness and I knew his mind was temporarily in peace. There was something attractive about him, more attractive than he usually is.

Guilt weighs on my conscience when I admit to myself that I am married to Elizabeth but in love with Holmes. As I covered him with an afghan he started talking to me without opening his eyes.

"What are you doing here, Watson?"

"How did you know it was me?" I asked.

"Simple. I woke up when you called my name," he gave me quick smile.

"I apologize for waking you up."

"No my dear Watson, I was already awake. I just wanted Mrs. Hudson to stop bothering me."

In one quick movement Holmes was up on his feet with the blanket in his arms. I smiled gently at him and reached out for the blanket. When our hands touched he quickly pulled away, looking down.

"You didn't answer my question," he asked trying to distract me.

"Elizabeth's sister is visiting and I took this opportunity to see you."

"Don't like the sister?" Holmes asked with a smirk.

"Only because she doesn't like me."

"And why not?"

"She's older and overprotective."

"Aren't they always?"

Stifling a laugh, I sat down. Holmes had humor in his eyes accompanied by another emotion I didn't recognize.

"I expected to hear from you," I said.

"I've had three case offers since I saw you last. I solved one in three days, the second didn't even interest me in the slightest and I just solved my latest while I pretended to sleep," he said a bit irritated.

"And they occupied you during Christmas?" I regretted saying this.

For the first time he looked me in the eyes, only he glared at me deeply; "As a matter of fact, yes! So I apologize for my _work_ interfering with plans on a stupid holiday!"

"Holmes, I didn't mean it like that. Don't overreact. Come now, there's only about an hour left until the New Year and I want to spend it with you."

His attitude changed quickly, he smiled and his eyes drifted to the rug once again.

"Let me write a telegram to Lestrade and we shall have the entire night to ourselves. No women or criminal to cause any unneeded distractions. If you would get the champagne and two glasses."

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><p>It was nearing midnight when Holmes and I had already finished off half a bottle of champagne. Holmes drunk most of the half and was intoxicated. He was having trouble staying in his chair, his cheeks were flushed and he was unusually upset. I have seen my friend's mood change sporadically before but under the effects of alcohol he seemed to be worse.<p>

"There's only ten more minutes," he said, "we only have 10 more minutes to do whatever we wanted to do this year."

"I don't think we have the time."

"No, there is for some things. Others, like how I wasn't going to let the Yard take the credit for my work, will have to wait until next year in 9 minutes. But the more important thing I could do right now, it would only take a minute. It took weeks of thinking it through and coming to a decision but I could do it! I should do it yet I can't. It's too hard. And if I mess up I will regret it and lose you!"

"Hold on, why would you lose me?"

"Because you wouldn't want to be with me."

Just then Holmes fell out of his chair. I caught him before his head hit he table and we looked each other in the eyes for the second time, what I wouldn't have given to stay in that position for the rest of the night. His grey eyes sparkled in the light of the fire - he was warm in my hands.

"I wouldn't leave you. Ever," my voice didn't go above a mere whisper.

Holmes wrapped his arms around me and pressed his lips on mine, I returned the kiss.

"John?" said Elizabeth from the doorway.

Holmes and I pulled apart as quickly as possible but she had already seen us.

Her expression wasn't angry or sad or even disgusted. It was understanding.

"Mrs. Watson!" Holmes scrambled unsteadily to his feet, "I apologize to both you and your husband. It was thoughtless and stupid. I'm sorry."

Holmes used the walls to help him to his bedroom. He shut the door hurriedly leaving Elizabeth and I alone.

"I'm sorry, it was my fault. You mustn't blame Holmes for any of this," I started to explain.

"John, it's alright, you love Mr. Holmes and there is nothing I can do about it. Sleep here tonight and in the morning you can get your stuff and move back here."

I smiled, "thank you, Elizabeth."

She turned to leave but faced me again; "Just so I know, John, did you ever love me?"

"Yes, I loved you very much."

"Thank you, that's all I needed to hear. Good night. Have a great year with Mr.

Holmes."

Elizabeth left the flat; I went to Holmes' room. He was on his bed hiding under the covers.

"Is she gone?"

"Yes."

"Are we going to be arrested?"

"She understands, I told you that before Christmas, she is a wonderful woman."

Holmes pulled the covers down, "are you staying?"

"Of course. And it's...12:01. I assume you made your deadline for your resolution?"

"No, not exactly. I wanted to tell you I love you, Watson. You're the only person

I love."

I sat down next to him, stroking his unkempt hair.

"I love you too."

"One day they'll understand. No one will look down upon us and we won't have to hide."

"I can't wait until that day comes."

"Patience, dear fellow. We must wait until_ they're_ ready."

We shared one last kiss before Holmes fell asleep in a drunken stupor. I would wait for the day when no one will misunderstand what we do. I hope that future generations can be proud of who they are and don't have to hide from the law. I know Holmes is right, one day everything will be right.

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><p>AN: Was it good? I hope you all like the ending. I want to thank all of my reviewers for being so kind. I also want to thank everyone that followed my story or clicked that favorite button!


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